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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375499">A Cloudy Birthday</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptMickey/pseuds/CaptMickey'>CaptMickey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>King's Quest (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt/Comfort, a bummer birthday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:41:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptMickey/pseuds/CaptMickey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham curled up and frowned. Past or coming up, he couldn’t tell, but he knew one thing: it should be his birthday.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Cloudy Birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one is immune from having a bad day. While true, it can happen far and few in-between, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t, well, happen. But the benefits of bad days is that once the day is up, it’s done and one can attempt at making the next day better.</p><p>At least, that’s what Graham kept telling himself for so long. With the cruddy day starting with the guards essentially insulting and disrespecting him by declaring opposite day on him (or ‘lets see how far we can push Graham’s button day’ as he venomously thought) to being caught in the rain (that was his own fault if Larry, Kyle and Olfie’s concerns were any indication), the day was just a parade of bad. And for the rotten cherry on top of this never ending and horrible day, he was now patterned with bruises and aches courtesy of the goblins who had beaten him senseless and kidnapped him and the citizens of Daventry.</p><p>‘That’s perfect, just what I wanted.’ Graham thought to himself before thinking vile and horrid thoughts on what he could do to whoever decided to have the day extend and just not see an end.</p><p>He laid in his stiff bed, shivering, with a small thought bubbling up.</p><p>It... has been a day. Right? It couldn’t have been more then that... right? No, he slept and there was the knock out so... at most (Stars, he hoped at most), it should have been about a week. That was the optimistic view. </p><p>Graham tried recalling what day it was when he was first taken. It was definitely July, that much was certain. And based on the typhoon-esqe storm that was going on, then it should be sometime mid-July. At least... that’s what he assumed. And if that was the case... Graham curled up and frowned. </p><p>Past or coming up, he couldn’t tell, but he knew one thing: it should be his birthday. And he’s being held prisoner to a bunch of goblins.</p><p>Zards, what a birthday.</p><p>---</p><p>He went about his usual routine (a routine that was forcefully shoved to him by his captors) and checked in on the citizens. Amaya looked ready to throttle him (he couldn’t fault her) and the Hobblepotts looked less then better (he should give them the meat the next time the goblins insist he feed the mole). He didn’t want to imagine how Mr. Fancycakes was doing knowing that if he went to see the Merchant, it would end with some elaborate back-handed remark. </p><p>It was obvious that they were all counting on him, (though whether it was with genuine sincerity or bitter reluctance, he couldn’t be sure) and he couldn’t fault them for thinking solely on their (hopefully) eventual freedom... but it didn’t mean the sting he felt at his epiphany the other night hurt any less. He could be back home, in the castle, inviting them over to celebrate with him and they could all be safe and happy... but no. He’s here instead, heavy with guilt and worry.</p><p>Speaking of birthdays, he went over his mental list of who to visit and made his way over to the Feys... if he didn’t save them, they could risk not being able to celebrate an unborn child’s first one.</p><p>Graham shook away any hurt feelings he had. Right now, in this moment, thinking of what or where he would rather be for his birthday felt... entitled. And wrong. He was their king, and as such, he would put the people before himself.</p><p>That... that was the right thing to do. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.</p><p>---</p><p>His head was spinning. Did he eat yet, he wondered? He could have sworn he-- no. No he didn’t. He handed the meat on a stick to Amaya just so she could stop glaring at him bitterly. </p><p>Graham sighed and dragged his feet across the stony floor until he was greeted with a somewhat warm light. He shouldn’t be thinking this, but of all the cells hes entered, the Feys’ were the sweetest. Even with their limited supplies he was able to gather for them, it still smelt like there was love (or bread, as Bramble once joked). </p><p>He rubbed his eyes as he walked, trying to rub away the exhaustion that was already overwhelming him at an alarming rate when his foot got caught on a piece of uneven stone and stumbled hard against what he assumed was the bakers’ cell, hearing his rather large crown clank unceremoniously to the side as it fell off of his head. How he desperately wanted to say some colorful words right now were it not for the fact he was in front of them.</p><p>Graham just laid there, his eyes shut and feeling miserable. This... this was the worst, he decided. Now whether it was day, week or month was entirely debatable, but this whole thing? It was for sure just the worst.</p><p>“Your Majesty?” Bramble’s voice spoke softly, stirring the young king’s attention as he looked and saw Wente scrambling about. “Are you feeling alright?”</p><p>It wasn’t right to dump his problems on them, it paled by comparison. “I’m just tired.” He sighed. “But fine. You? How are you and the baby feeling?”</p><p>“Oh, we’re fine.” She assured (he wasn’t entirely sure if she was saying that to be polite, though). </p><p>Wente then hummed a small by shockingly familiar tune as he walked over to him, with what looked to be a baked dessert and a somewhat used candle on top and stuck his arm through the cell for Graham to hold. “Happy birthday, Graham. I know it’s not much, and trust me, I would have come up with something far more spectacular for this sort of celebration, but with what you gave us, I was able to scrap up one more sweetycake for your birthday.”</p><p>Graham froze. “Y-you…I…”</p><p>Bramble smiled. “You get used to counting the days when you’ve got a baby on the way,” she said. “Believe us. We know what day it is, even in here. Many happy returns, Majesty.”</p><p>It was then Wente that smiled. “Now then, blow out the candle. You still need to make a wish.” </p><p>He stared the small dessert in his hand, feeling his eyes starting to burn and quickly tried rubbing it as a small smile graced his face.  Graham nodded and gave a dry laugh. </p><p>He already knew what to wish for.</p>
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